


I Am Trying to Break Your Heart

by trepidatingboarfetus



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26951122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepidatingboarfetus/pseuds/trepidatingboarfetus
Summary: Michael realizes he'd been hurting the one he loves the most because of his own insecurities.
Relationships: Amanda De Santa/Michael De Santa, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	I Am Trying to Break Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Been a long time where I actually included the lyrics like this, but this worked so well for these two, especially Michael, that I just couldn't stop myself. It wrote itself in a sense. Bittersweet until the ending. 👏
> 
> I Am Trying to Break Your Heart is by Wilco. ❤️

_I am an American aquarium drinker_

_I assassin down the avenue_

_I’m hidin’ out in the big city blinkin’_

_What was I thinkin’ when I let go of you?_

Another shot tossed back down the gullet, but he didn’t feel any warmer on the inside or out, was starting to wonder if he could even feel a buzz anymore with how much he had to drink these days to forget things like how much he’d fucked up his kids’ lives when he’d had to uproot them halfway across the country or how much Amanda hated his guts and fucked everyone else except him to get back at him for moving him away from everyone she’d ever known and loved. And he drank to forget things like Ludendorff and even if he’d hated the fuck out of Brad Snider, he’d let him die, and it played over and over in his head that Brad _wasn’t even the one who was supposed to have eaten that bullet_. 

He tried to forget those haunting amber eyes and that stubborn boyish look that had refused to leave his side when he ran alongside his new protégé and wondered why the fuck he even _had_ one, much less a new partner when he couldn’t even be trusted to do right by his old one. Not in matters of the business, not in matters of the heart. 

No amount of gunfire could make those desperate eyes go away. 

It didn't matter where he’d gone; Trevor had found him in the end. Maybe it was always meant to be this way. They always had a habit of crashing back into each other. 

_Let’s forget about the tongue-tied lightning_

_Let’s undress just like cross-eyed strangers_

_This is not a joke, so please stop smiling_

_What was I thinkin’ when I said it didn’t hurt?_

Being this close to each other again after nine fucking years was pure agonizing torture to him, and he fucking hated it but also reveled in it like the sick fuck he was. No wife, no kids...it didn’t matter if Madrazo wanted his head on a platter, and the man’s wife was currently napping here -- wasn’t he a free man right now? Couldn’t he do what he wanted? Hadn’t he _earned_ a little piece of fucking heaven after nine years of pain and sleepless nights and on the ones where he managed to get _some_ by fucking luck, he’d wake up screaming for the very man before him...just wishing he could grab him one more time and tell him he loved him like he’d never been able to get it out before it had become much too late….

He wanted to reach out and grab him now, undress the both of them and _show_ him, but his hand slid and touched a beer instead. Trevor fell against him on the bed as easily as old times, leaning into his skin to smell something that he called “purely Michael,” and suddenly it was like they were transported back. Trevor was smiling out of wild abandonedness and carefree youth, not because he was fucked up on a crazy meth high and had possibly eaten some poor homeless soul. They were all each other _had_ , and all each other had to worry about _yet_. All they had to focus on in those days was getting enough money to get themselves some food and fun. That’s all they’d ever needed.

God, when did reminiscing begin to hurt so fucking much. He’d been a fool to think he could be around Trevor and not feel anything at all. He was human, goddamn it. He was just another stupid flawed piece of shit. 

Who wanted his best friend in the worst way.

_I wanna glide through those brown eyes dreamin’_

_Take it from the inside, baby, hold on tight_

_You were so right when you said I’ve been drinkin’_

_What was I thinkin’ when we said goodnight?_

It had been a mistake to come to the Unicorn with Frank, Lamar, and especially Trevor because he really had no interest in being there beyond drinking at the bar. Tits were nice, but there were fake ones at home by the name of Amanda that he’d paid quite a bit for over the years, so watching more bounce didn’t really do anything for him, he realized, and asses were asses. A nice ass could be found on anyone. 

It really hadn’t helped that T had _insisted_ on coming out of the backstage where the dressing rooms were -- well, he _could_ , he supposed, since he was the goddamn owner now, but it still seemed wrong somehow -- and currently, _Trisha_ , as T had demanded on being called for the rest of the ice-and-gasoline-fueled night, was sashaying around the place in a plaid mini-skirt and white button-up tied off at the midriff that really proved the point that a nice ass _could_ be found on absolutely anyone, for one, and the Catholic schoolgirl vibe was really doing a number on awakening things that he was doing his best to drown in the watered-down whiskey.

There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world though that could hammer down his dick when _Trisha_ had saddled up next to him, legs slightly askew, mouth parted in the most sinful way, and bright amber eyes darkened to warm brown by the lights of the club, still looking at him like they had that fateful day as if he held the answers to hope and salvation.

So when T asked faux-innocently, “Do you think I need a spanking, Daddy,” Michael latched onto his midsection and nuzzled his neck, taking in everything that was most distinctly Trevor underneath everything that was also Trisha and loved them both. 

He wanted to get lost in those honey-colored eyes forever. 

A bubble of affectionate laughter came from the beautiful person holding him so gently and lovingly despite being so strong and muscular. “You’re stinkin’ drunk, Mikey.”

And he smiled the warm pleasant smile of the patron saint of drunks but frowned at himself internally as he remembered he still had a wife and kids at home. “That I am.” But Michael couldn’t stop himself from licking T’s ear and whispering playfully, “A raincheck on that spanking, beautiful,” and watched with a delightful smirk as a shiver ran down the other man’s body. “Gotta get home.” T had grumbled and whined, reminding him briefly of a dog missing its master, but had nodded sadly in the end.

As he hailed a cab home, he couldn’t help wondering why the hell he’d left in the first place. What was he even going home to anymore?

_I wanna hold you in the Bible-black predawn_

_You’re quite a quiet domino, bury me now_

_Take off your Band-Aid ‘cause I don’t believe in touchdowns_

_What was I thinkin’ when we said hello?_

It started with a simple hello.

Couldn’t sleep again, nothing unusual in that, he told himself when he dialed Trevor over the phone and asked him if he wanted to hang out at the cliff where they’d just dumped Weston the evening before. It had offered a beautiful view then, and he figured that the predawn sky had to hold an expanse of stars and sea he didn’t have to go that far to see. 

Or maybe there was something else in the back of his head. They needed to work on... _whatever_ it was between them. He couldn’t move on, couldn’t sleep until he worked himself to the bone and through it, he knew that much. Their years together, their time together, Ludendorff...how badly he’d treated someone he’d called brother -- someone he’d actually dared to _love_ secretly with his whole heart and not just fragmented pieces of himself like he had always done with Mandy -- it tore at him on a daily basis, and he hated himself for it. He wasn’t even sure he could fully forgive himself. 

He wasn’t even sure _why_ he had fallen in love with Trevor. Or even when it had happened. But he _was_ sure it had happened before Amanda had come along; he’d just been too young and terrified of his own confused feelings to fully understand them, so he’d just thought they were having harmless fun. Trevor was just crazy Trevor and always had been. He’d screw a moose if you’d give him enough crank, and maybe sometimes if he thought he could get a chuckle out of his eternally depressed best friend from it, he'd do it just because. 

God, that’s why he’d fallen in love with him. Everyone else back then had always been talking about what a _downer_ Mikey was when he wasn’t snorting coke, even Mandy. Trevor was the only one who would go out of his way to try to cheer him up, and if he couldn’t, he’d commiserate with him while they’d drank and fucked themselves stupid.

That’s why he was at the cliff. He needed this. It was time to rip off the bloody Band-Aid and let this shit scab over to heal properly. This had to be worked out for the benefit of his sanity. Goddammit, he was sorry. He was sorry for never trusting anyone enough, for only thinking about himself, for thinking he was doing what was right...what his Pops would’ve done….

Which was a laugh because his Pops would’ve beaten his ass if he even knew how much he liked cock. He would’ve choked him with the rosary and made him pray on it while doing so. There’s no way he would have ever made it past the damn Apostles’ Creed with that asshole’s grip. 

Either way, he was there, sitting on the trunk of his Tailgater, eyes moving back and forth between the screen of his phone and the pitch black of the twilight sky. He’d planned to give an ultimatum, one that would appeal to both Trevor’s sense of honor, trust, and dark side. 

They would figure this mess out now so he could carry on and get some rest or Trevor could Weston his ass. He was getting some much-needed rest, _either way_. 

Tires crunched against the dirt and gravel, and the red Bodhi came into his peripheral vision. 

And unfortunately for his worn-out body, so did _Trisha_ again. Was T _trying_ to make him have a fucking stroke or what? He groaned into his hands, trying to will his sight and old-ass impulsive hormones away. They needed to have a talk, for fuck’s sakes, not be feeling each other up like teens on top of Makeout Mountain. 

“Hello.”

“Why the fuck is it this again, Trevor?” He thought he could feel the veins in his forehead readying themselves to pop, he swore to Christ. 

“Uh uh _uh_ , sugar, it’s _Trisha_. Just for you,” T retorted and hefted himself up onto the Tailgater next to Michael, lifting a finger delicately to his chin. “I know how well you respond to _me_.”

Michael tried to take a calming breath and focused on the stars twinkling in the heavens, the same ones that had seen them through many nights many years before now. Had these same stars watched as he’d muffled his cries so he wouldn’t wake Amanda as he jerked himself off after nightmares about Trevor? Had they witnessed his Ludendorff folly as he struggled to get his family and himself out of town quietly with no one the wiser in the dead of night working in tandem with the FIB? Had they seen him hover over Trevor in their younger days, just ballsy enough to be close to him in his sleep, close enough just to capture one brief kiss?

And now he was hopeless, he realized, as he stared hard at the ground and tried desperately to avert his eyes from Trevor...Trisha...T...whoever in the brown dress next to him with white flowers dotting it everywhere, the bomber jacket, and the combat boots...and Jesus, Michael felt like he’d slipped into the past somehow. This reminded him of something Mandy would’ve worn way back in the day, but T wore it well with those beautiful doe eyes, and he was getting so fucking hard, damn.

He cleared his throat, begged his brain to form any kind of sentence. “I didn’t ask you out here for a quick fuck for old time’s sake, Christ. I...I want to fix the shit between us,” he said softly, gazing up at the person who’d held his heart since they were practically still wet behind the ears. “I can’t go to sleep being whatever the fuck this is. I know what I said earlier about dysfunctional friends and all that, but I...I’m not OK with it.”

T snorted and looked away. “So you dragged my pitiful ass out here just because you’re having trouble sleeping with the person you’ve become? So what else is new, sweetheart?”

It was cooler out here than in the city, and he’d forgotten shit like that, forgotten what it was like to even get cold, but his old man joints were giving him a reminder, so he stuffed them in the pockets of his chinos and sighed to himself. “Look, I asked you out here to talk this shit out with me or you get to do something we both want.”

He knew he had T’s attention then with the way the man was looking at him. “And what’s that?”

“Like we did to Weston. You get to give me the eternal rest. We’re going to fix my sleeping problem somehow.”

_I always thought that if I held you tightly_

_You would always love me like you did back then_

_Then I fell asleep and the city kept blinkin’_

_What was I thinkin’ when I let you back in?_

They’d moved into the back of the Bodhi because it was actually fitted with comfortable padding because T liked to think ahead like that -- go figure, he thought -- watching the stars span out above them and talking about everything under the sun first. It was mostly pleasant bullshitting, the kind of canned talk people saved for weddings, funerals, and other get-togethers where they hadn’t seen the other person in a long time and had a lot of catching up to do. However, as the heavens started to lighten, the talk became deeper. They moved onto the last nine years. 

Michael began lightly, telling him about Tracey and Jimmy, but as with everything in his life, it took a depressive turn, and he talked about how he’d fucked them up when he forced them to move here. They’d become as artificial as everyone else, and he barely recognized the kids anymore. 

Jimmy had grown up playing actual sports but thought video games were a sport now. Jesus Christ, Tracey had loved horses but hadn’t given a thought to starring in a porno with one. What the fuck had he done?

T had let him cry without one snide-ass remark, hadn’t interrupted once, it was just like the days of old, and by the time he’d moved onto Amanda, talking about how she never forgave him for moving him away from her family so she spent the money in any way she could and fucked anyone and everyone she could, he was starting to wonder why he’d ever bothered with a therapist. All he needed was this. All he’d ever needed was this. 

So without really much thought, he looked over courteously at T and asked what he figured was a simple question, “So what did you get up to while...you know.”

T stared straight ahead at the sky, eyes unwavering and his face an emotionless mask. “You aren’t ready for the answer to that.”

He rolled over on his side and moved closer to the body heat his own was already subconsciously seeking out. “No, this is why we’re talking, Tre--” He saw T’s eyes flash angrily, so he swore silently and caught himself. “Trisha, sorry. I’m sorry.”

T turned towards him slightly, and Michael would later swear that if his gaze could penetrate any deeper, he’d probably feel it in his goddamn ass. “OK, OK, good. We’ll _talk_ because we have a _lot_ of things to discuss, Michael.”

He paused, noting that his full name was never a good sign out of T’s mouth. “OK, so tell me the real answer. I _am_ ready for it. It’s just me and you. No Amanda, no kids, no Frank and Lamar, no goddamn FIB to interrupt...there ain’t even a goddamn Michael de Santa, OK? It’s just me as I ever was and will be,” he spoke gently, looking into his favorite honey eyes.

T shook violently like a volcano waiting to erupt and glared back at him. “I spent nine years trying to forget you, OK? Trying to forget your touch, your smell, your taste, your voice, the way you felt inside of me, every goddamn memory we had, every fucking feeling I had, and I drank and smoked and popped pills and shot up and fucked and ate and did every depraved thing known to mankind to erase you from my soul, but then you end up coming back anyway, and now I’m stuck wondering if any of this was ever even real.” He looked so fragile and small as he looked down on himself. “Am I going to wake up? Are you still going to be dead?”

The tears came before Michael could even fully comprehend them, and he yanked his friend to him like he needed a lifeline, and Michael, himself, was that source. “Jesus, I...I...what the fuck did I do??” He cried anguished sobs into T’s hair and let his heart burn with rage for himself even more. “I never meant for any of this to happen! I never meant for any of it to go the way it did...you weren’t supposed to end up like this!”

Amber eyes rolled upwards into his. “What was I supposed to end up like, Mikey? Dead?”

The back of his right hand flew to his mouth, and he bit down to keep from screaming. It was an old habit, leftover from the days his Pops used to get out the belt. He stopped just short of tasting the acrid tang of his own blood. He knew the sordid truth. The truth was that the FIB had been meaning to take out Trevor because he was the loose cannon, the variable who couldn’t be controlled like Michael Townley could and was for years afterward. 

He couldn’t bring himself to admit that, but he did offer a different kind of truth. “I...I made sure Brad was in the front. I never really liked that loudmouth sack of shit, and I couldn’t let them do to you what they...what they….”

T gripped his hand and smiled. “Thanks. I never liked Brad either.”

He chuckled and gripped back. It was a small start. “T, I never meant for any of that shit to happen the way it did, you have to understand that. I’m a dumbass who should’ve known enough back then to trust you and Lester to let you know what was going on so we could figure something out, move on, whatever. I...I had too much bullshit going on at all ends and was always so fucking stupid about needing to take care of everything on my own.” He sighed, recalling those days and the many fights he had with Amanda over Trevor. “And truthfully, T, don’t take this the wrong way, but you were getting more ridiculous before Ludendorff. Amanda was up my asshole more than a proctologist or a good time, and she was part of the reason I was forced into that shitshow of a deal. It was either her and the kids or you...and...and...I panicked.”

“People divorce all of the time, Michael.”

What was he not getting here? “She threatened to take the kids and leave where I -- where _we_ could never see them again.”

Something hateful graced T's face but then slowly relaxed away. "It's OK now. They're older, and she can't threaten to do that anymore. They can come see me anytime." Michael was sure T was saying more for his own benefit as he whispered it almost too softly to hear. 

“No, she can’t,” he agreed, stroking T’s hair. And then it dawned on him. No, she really couldn’t anymore. What was holding them together at this point? There was no sex and still hadn’t been any after their miserable attempt to move forward and accept that they’d always be just left of normal. 

The pained laughter came shortly after that. It was like letting go of a well-loved childhood toy: there were partial parts of nostalgic sadness and stubborn angriness, but there was also a blessed relief because he didn’t need to hold onto this anymore. He could let her go. 

He _needed_ to let her go.

But there were also waves of fear that came in this vomity feeling in the deepest pit of his stomach. If he left her, he was admitting to yet _another_ failure, and Townleys didn’t fucking fail. 

And even deeper than that, if he left her, he had to admit to himself something he had never been willing to admit out loud to anyone. If he couldn’t embrace that in his teens, even pre-Trevor Philips, then how the fuck was he supposed to admit it now nearing his fifties??

“I know that look,” came T’s voice, in a childish mocking tone devoid of humor. “That’s Mikey’s ‘going to run away’ look.”

He coughed nervously. “I...I am _not_ running away. I said we’re talking, and we’re _talking_. I just wasn’t aware that you know what my look of abject horror is.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it countless times, Mikey,” T said while snuggling against his shoulder. “Lots of times. When Amanda said she was pregnant, both times. When I got gutted like a Thanksgiving turkey by that one dickhead biker,” he murmured sleepily. “Whenever we got close to talking about being a real couple.”

God, he felt like such a fucking heel. “C’mon,” he nudged gently, embracing T to him. “I...I’m sorry for that. For all of that.” He breathed in the chemical smells of gas, meth, urine, gunpowder, makeup, and whatever fucking else T got into that were all uniquely him and kissed his stubbly cheek, trying hard to remember the last time he’d done that. It was bittersweet, but it also didn’t feel wrong like everything else had felt for the last nine years. 

T grimaced and wiped at his face. “Don’t fucking do that.” He wrenched himself up and wrapped his arms around himself, and it reminded Michael all too much of someone who’d been assaulted, and he found himself panicking.

“What...what, _why_?” He went to reach out and touch T’s shoulder, but the man slid away from him.

“We can do handjobs or blowies in the bathroom like random strangers, or we can fuck in the back seat like, _you know_ , friends, but you don’t get to come back into my life after nine fucking years of trying to forget you and make me love you all over again.” He watched as T cried and snotted into his fists. 

He’d broken the person dearest to him. But hadn’t he always been trying to do that?

_I am trying to break your heart_

_I am trying to break your heart_

_But still I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t easy_

_I am trying to break your heart_

There was something about how T had said he’d seen his scared face so many times before; memories slithered into his brain from long-forgotten days of yore, where he could plainly recall Trevor trying to hold his hand, and him pulling away, or Trevor trying to give him something as a gift, and him laughing it off, so Trevor had laughed it off too even though he hadn't been really smiling...Trevor had done _normal_ shit. Normal shit people would do when trying to gain the attention of someone they liked, and fuck, he’d never even been heavy on the crank in those days. Everyone had done some blow, weed, and drank, but that was just how shit had gone during the ‘80s and ‘90s.

When had he stopped trying?

He recalled a certain night, not long after they'd crept dangerously near enough to his hometown of Rockford that he'd been particularly antsy and depressive because the thought of his father loomed too close -- what would he say, could he see, did he know? And Trevor had tried in his then innocent way to comfort him by offering up his ass on a platter which Michael had been putting off already because he was already teetering towards territory where he wasn't trying to tread. 

But Trevor had been too gorgeous, too enticing, and he had unwrapped him eagerly like a kid on Christmas before plowing into him without much thought or preparation, and it's a wonder he hadn't torn the fuck out of Trevor then, but Trevor had drained his dick like a man thirsting in the desert for ages. 

And then he had peppered Michael with kisses and told him that he loved him. And Michael had done that _scared Mikey look_ and told him to _never_ mention love again. That they were just blowing off steam and having fun, that Michael Townley didn't do gay shit.

That's when Trevor had slowly changed. 

And he just kept doing it too, he realized sadly as the memories flooded him unwillingly like a weak dam finally bursting through. He'd repeated the same actions, time after time. Pretend to love Trevor, then toss him to the side, but the stupid ass was nothing if not loyal. Why did he have to be _so damn loyal_?

And why couldn't _he_ get past this one little thing?? So many people were...not straight nowadays. He could be one, couldn't he?? Hadn't he lived enough of a hellish life to deserve some sort of heaven if this was all there was to offer?

Trevor had been his heaven long ago; he'd just been too stubborn to say it. 

He looked into T's glossy eyes, now ringed with faded black and blue from ruined makeup, and tried to ignore the pain behind them which he'd put there as he tried to wipe away some of the smudging but only managed to make it worse. 

He had a lifetime of making things right, he knew, but he could start with something that had been a long time coming. 

Smiling lovingly, he bent to kiss T on the lips, savoring the taste and texture, and it was like coming home the way they melted into each other so perfectly. Why had he ever given this up for a lackluster existence in a fake city full of holes? 

"What was that for?"

"Because...because this is difficult to say, all right? But I think...I think I've worked out why I can't sleep and haven't been able to for years. I think I've known for a long time, but I'm scared, T," he admitted reluctantly.

T stared at him patiently but looking also somewhat timid, himself, maybe from nervous energy. "What is there to be scared of? I'm here with you, Mikey. I won't let anything hurt you."

Let nothing hurt _him_. He'd been in hero mode for so many years that he wasn't used to someone saving _him_. It felt...nice to be on the other end. 

"I'm scared of what I am, T. You're right. You've always been right, dammit. I'm running from myself," he answered bitterly. "You've always had your shit together, but I...I'm still scared after all this time." 

T barked out a sour laugh as if he'd tasted lemon Pledge on accident. "I never had my shit together back then, you pasty turd! I was scared shitless too, but I was ready to follow you anywhere as long as we were together."

"I've treated you so fucking bad," Michael whispered into the crisp dawn air as birds began to announce the new day.

"And I've been no peach either," T chuckled wickedly. "You still owe me a spanking, Daddy."

Michael gulped thickly and felt his cock springing to life. God help him, there wasn't anything wrong with him permanently that Trevor or Trisha or whatever delicious name he wanted to be called couldn't fix. It wasn't him, it _wasn't_ him! He'd surrounded himself with the wrong people, Jesus!

He stared down at his beautiful old friend darkly, fiddling with the hem of the dress, allowing his hand the slip underneath towards the spot that T was aching for it go and watched as the man squirmed beneath his touch. "Oh, we'll get there, baby, believe me, but first," he leaned over and murmured into Trisha's ear, causing his friend to loudly moan, "let me tell you how much I loved you, how much I've always loved you, and how much I always will." 

_Disposable Dixie-cup drinkin'_

_I assassin down the avenue_

_I'm hidin' outin the big city blickin'_

_What was I thinkin' when I let go of you?_

_Loves you_

_I'm the man who loves you_


End file.
